


Trophy Hunter

by Jessie_Lovelace



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Crucible (Destiny), Denial of Feelings, F/M, Female Human Warlock (Destiny) - Freeform, Hate to Love, Pre-Foresaken, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:33:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23455579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jessie_Lovelace/pseuds/Jessie_Lovelace
Summary: “Who says Warlocks are better with books than with guns? Okay, it was me. But I was lying. Rage is an excellent motivator!"Some Guardians are spectacular in battle, and most adore the sport of it. For Ophelia, it's difficult; absorbed in her studies of the Golden Age, she doesn't find much time for the Crucible, until one fateful day.To provoke Lord Shaxx, the Crucible himself, Ophelia rises through the ranks of Guardians within his domain, catching the attention of many who would seek to utilise her strengths. She will prove the point that brawn and intimidation are not the only tactics that make a Guardian successful, but will this petty attempt to establish herself evolve into something further?
Relationships: Female Guardian/Shaxx (Destiny)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 68





	1. Prologue

The cold was painful. That was the first thing she remembered when she awoke. Laid on the icy ground, the woman shivered, grasping her surroundings as her senses returned to her. A blanket of darkness smothered the environment, the only source of light coming from up above in the form of blinking starlight. In the far distance, a hiss and howl pierced the silence of the night. 

“Eyes up, Guardian.” She startled, whipping her head around. “Don’t worry; I’m a friend, your Ghost, actually. I’m hidden because we’re in Fallen territory, as you heard.”

Another howl sounded, further away than the last, but still as haunting. Crawling into the backseat of a rusted vehicle, the Guardian huddled by the overgrowing vegetation, sturdy rooted plants that could withstand the frost of Fallen territory. 

“You’re about to see lots of things you don’t understand, because, well, you’ve been dead. You’ve been dead for a very long time.”

Gazing down at what little she could see of herself under the new moon, the Guardian could hardly believe she had been dead – and yet something deep inside her knew otherwise. Daring not to speak, she crawled out of the derelict vehicle, nervous as she manoeuvred her way into the snow. At least the car had been warm, she thought sadly, as she trudged towards the silhouette of a building in the distance. Fear had snared her throat as it clamped, dry and mute. The only noise came from her shallow breaths and the slight crunch of snow under her boots. She didn’t know if she could speak.

Following the instructions of the little voice in her head, the Guardian made it into the building through a network of vents inaccessible to the Fallen; this was easy as she had been undetected, but uncomfortable as she waited cramped inside a tunnel for hours in the pitch black until a Dreg left his post. As quietly as possible, the Guardian slid out of her hiding place and into the half-scavenged ship in the landing area. It was tiny in comparison to the bulky jumpships, but with a quick scan by her Ghost, they realised it was their only option of escape as it was the only one not completely stripped for parts. Sat on the worn leather of the pilot’s seat, it had finally sunk in; this world was entirely new, exciting and terrifying. 

“D’you know how to fly this thing, Guardian?” Her Ghost said, sounding almost nervous.

The Guardian shrugged her shoulders back and gripped onto the controls. “We’re about to find out.”


	2. Ghost Log 01

**TYPE: Ghost Shell Transcript**

**LOCATION: The Tower**

**• LOG FOLLOWS •**

  
I found the Guardian far out in Old Russia, buried under snow and vegetation, deep in Fallen territory.

Black hair, brown eyes, honey skin, freckled - very much human.

She is lithe, built with the potential to be a great Warlock. 

We found her out there with a diary, the pages crumbling and unreadable, except for the name etched in gold along the worn leather; Ophelia.

Ophelia doesn’t sleep much.

Other Ghosts tell me that Guardians don’t sleep too much in the first weeks, but her injury only perpetuates her lack of sleep.

Fallen shot her forearm clean off in our escape beyond my healing capabilities.

New arm, new Light, new life – I don’t think I could understand the difficulty of Ophelia’s resurrection.

We have much to learn, and I intend that we do it together.


	3. Beginnings

Ophelia’s room in the Tower represented her aptly.

Sat crossed-legged on her unmade bed, books circled it on the floor and in the air, all open ready to be read. Historical books and personal journals were all within the chaos of her room. With no curtains on her window, Ophelia woke with the sun every morning, hoping to sleep as it too slept. No Guardian slept properly anymore; every Guardian carried weight with them whether on their shoulders, in the lines on their face, or deep in their eyes. Ophelia’s weight was visible in the form of the sunken purple colour of underneath her brown eyes.

Polter – Ophelia’s ghost – emerged in front of her, seemingly appearing from the depths of her mattress like a phantom. She never startled anymore though.

“Ophelia,” Polter started, his gaze scanning the room, “You have duties outside of your bedroom.”

“Well, if the Vanguard would give me a more formal position- “

“And what? Have you transplanted to the Moon? The EDZ?” Polter bristled.

She hummed, “I’d have my books.”

The Ghost beeped discontentedly, bobbing up and down in the air like a tiny boat in a horrific storm. They had already discussed this many times over, and yet his Guardian would not relent. Unlike her fellow Guardians, Ophelia followed in the path of the likes of Asher Mir or Toland, the Shattered. Her escape from Old Russia proved that she could be a great warrior, as did her previous training experiences within the Crucible and alongside her fellow Kinderguardians. However, she constantly pushed and relented against the expectations of her to be a fighter, opting to be an academic.

“What if I fetched Ikora?” Polter suggested, “I hear she turns Guardians into frogs.”

With a sigh, the books fell to the ground. Ophelia could never hate her dear Ghost, but he could sure as hell be annoying. Scooping her helmet up from under her bed, the Guardian left her room in shambles, ready for her to return to as everything was.

The Tower was bustling with life as she stood in front of the ramen store. Ordering a bowl – careful not to drop her meal down her front – Ophelia waited for her Fireteam to arrive. Something she regretted was ever joining a Fireteam, but Ikora Rey had forced her into one to help her become a ‘team player’. Yes, Ophelia loved her teammates more than anyone, but in small doses that left time for solitude. It was Li she spotted first.

With as much grace as a chicken of the Farm, the gunslinging Hunter approached the seats of the ramen store. This Guardian was more interested in a mission for the loot than the glory, dropping everything on the battlefield at the chance to nab a new cloak. It was one of the reasons Li hardly left the Tower anymore for reasons other than boredom. He was pretty enough and assumed that was what got him out, not the fact that his presence was something that required a taste for his antics.

Opening his mouth to speak, Li didn’t even bother seeing the disdain on Ophelia’s face, waiting for their Titan friend to arrive. They eventually did, Zephyr turning up with a smile only an Exo mother could love. With Zephyr and Li reunited, the two laughed in conversation either side of poor Ophelia, who only wanted to eat her ramen in peace. Even their Ghosts seemed attuned to each other’s company. The Crucible always got them hyped up, especially when Ophelia came out to play too. They would say how they missed her around the Tower or scouting for Fallen in the remains of the EDZ, which, she supposed, was sweet enough.

“So, ‘Phelia,” The Awoken Hunter said, bringing his eyes to the Fireteam’s Warlock, “How goes your history project?”

“Well enough.” She smiled a slight smile, her brown eyes crinkling. “Some of the things mankind developed in the Golden Age are fascinating.”

The Exo teased, “What, the Golden Age is far enough back for you?”

“If you’re referring to the works of Toland, the Shattered, which I assume you are, they are too far back, yes. I want to understand humanity first before I tackle mystic space gods.”

The pair chuckled even though they knew that Ophelia was half-serious. She didn’t even realise that she could tackle humour, let alone the history of the Hive. Books brought out her confidence, but battle brought out her fire; they couldn't understand why she didn’t indulge herself in it more often.

Together, the Fireteam walked up to the Courtyard, joking about as they readied for battle.

“What do you mean you can’t concentrate when I’m yelling!? Relax!”

They could hear the Crucible himself before they even got past Banshee-44. Rubbing her temples, Ophelia readied herself for the headache to come. Maybe taking bullets in the Crucible would heal it, but it would have still been there. Past the Vaults, the trio stood before Lord Shaxx, might Titan and handler of the Crucible. Ophelia couldn’t stand him most of the time; brash and loud, the Titan Warlord was often harsh and tactless with his fellow Guardians, his shouting now being a prime example of this.

“Relax! Relax harder! I said relax!”

The poor Titan stood before him seemed paralysed by the bellowing, reduced to a first-day Kinderguardian rather than a seasoned warrior of the Crucible. Ophelia sighed at the sight, sighing loud enough to catch the Crucible’s attention.

“Are you tired, Guardian?” Lord Shaxx demanded, his tone containing a dangerous edge.

“Of the noise, yes,” Ophelia blanched, “My Fireteam would like to enter the Crucible if you’re finished.”

There was a tense silence that permeated through the Crucible station. Emotionless, Ophelia stared the Titan down, arms down by her side casually as Shaxx towered above, his arms tense, the leather tightly flexed around his biceps as he crossed his arms over his broad chest. With his helmet on, no one could decipher whether Polter would need to revive his Guardian, or whether her act of defiant attitude would be accepted in amusement by the Titan.

“Control or Skirmish?”

She smirked, clasping her hands in front of her, “Control, please.”

“You best prove yourself, Guardian,” He warned, his voice loud and purposeful, “Otherwise there will be dire consequences.”

* * *

The arena in Felwinter Peak was brutally cold; Ophelia watched her poor Hunter teammate shiver under his thin and stylish cloak. A match of Control seemed only fitting for the Fireteam – with three more Guardians other than Li and Zephyr that Ophelia didn’t care to know – however, some were soon regretting it as they were transported into the arena. The fortress of Vostok was intimidating, built into the foundations of Felwinter Peak as if it were part of the environment. Grey and white dominated the colour palette, with concrete buildings and blanketed snow over the mountainous terrain. Breath came out in a cloud of vapour as the Guardians took their first zone of the match.

Snow swirled under Ophelia’s feet as she strafed to one of the great towers, satisfied that her Fireteam could defend their first claimed zone at a close range without her. Climbing the stairs, fire fuelled her veins, eradicating any ice from her body with the anticipation of conflict – and a conflict she would have. An unfortunate Hunter had come up with the same idea as her in terms of where they wanted to be, and she couldn’t have that. Without the vantage point of the high ground, Ophelia threw a vortex grenade up the stairs, landing a direct hit on the Hunter, who scrambled to get a kill in before they perished. They did not succeed.

_“You’re in the lead. Don’t choke, Guardian.”_

Pulling out her Trophy Hunter sniper, the Warlock scoffed. “I never choke.”

Looking down the scope of the gun, Ophelia swiftly picked off opposing Guardians one by one. Watching four bodies crumple to the ground, she fled down the stairs, equipping her hand cannon; such an assault would have undoubtedly given away her position.

Sighing at the comment, Ophelia continued, knowing she could come into the Crucible with only a book and come out with perfect efficiency. Beyond the howling of the wind, the Warlock heard the tell-tale sound of a Titan’s shoulder barge.

Perhaps Zephyr requires a helping hand, she thought with amusement, having much experience with the stubbornness of a Titan. Strafing towards the abandoned Warlock temple, Ophelia dodged oncoming fire from an annoying assault rifle. A bullet tore through her shoulder, her dodge not entirely effective. She felt nothing. Sliding into the zone, she summoned a healing rift, circling herself and Zephyr as they defended the zone from attack. Continuing an unbroken streak, she annihilated more enemies with the help of her fellow Guardian. With her HUD void of red, Ophelia moved on to the next zone, cycling to the Gondola.

As the battle raged on, Ophelia’s Fireteam dominated the field. Encountering one frustrating Jötunn assault, the Crucible match had otherwise been entirely successful for the Warlock. Down to the one-minute left, the tensions were rising; the opposing Fireteam was steadily catching up with kills as they popped Super after Super in an attempt to gain ground.

_“It’s not over yet, Guardian. Make it happen!”_

Make it happen; Ophelia could make it happen.

“Li!” The Warlock shouted, shooting a Hunter with Golden Guns in the head before they could do the same to her friend. “Flank them and herd them into the Gondola!”

Following instructions, Li led the opposing Fireteam into the cramped area successfully, Zephyr flanking on the opposite side keeping them trapped. Sprinting towards the zone, Ophelia lept into the air as the other half of their team captured a final zone. With their Power Play imminent, she launched all of her Void energy in a Nova Bomb into the opposite team. With nowhere to run, the Guardians perished, succumbing to her powerful, game-ending Super.

_“Exquisite work! Your efforts have been noted.”_

Smug, Ophelia grinned as she was transported out of the arena; she had proved a point without her books, and something about that was exhilarating.

* * *

“Shaxx buddy, a little betting never hurt anybody!”

Sat at the ramen bar with her journal, Ophelia found herself distracted from her multitasking as she gazed over at an unlikely duo. Placing her book down in her lap, the Warlock swivelled around on her seat to face the conversation as it interested her greatly. Devouring her third bowl of ramen, she caught the eye of the Exo Hunter, representative of the Vanguard – though you couldn’t tell from his happy-go-lucky attitude. With ignorant haste, Cayde-6 cut of his argument and headed in Ophelia’s direction. He claimed the seat next to her as his own.

“You’re that Warlock from the Crucible,” He said, his tone somewhat impressed.

She gasped, “And you’re that Hunter from the Vanguard!”

“Hardy-ha ha,” Cayde blanched, though he couldn’t keep the slight grin from his face, “What’s your name, Warlock?”

“Ophelia.”

“No, too many syllables.”

Ophelia furrowed her brows, trying to understand what the Exo was getting at. Deciphering his muttering – with little success – the Guardian ordered two more bowls of ramen; no one could ever say that she couldn’t be a nice person. 

“You have no defining features!” Cayde declared, frustrated.

She scoffed, “Thanks.”

“No, no, no,” The Exo backed up, recalibrating how he would explain so it was more sensitive. “If you were blonde, I might’ve called you ‘Blondie’ – emphasis on the might – but your hair is black. You’ve got Sovereign robes, nice. Ooh! You have a book!”

“How very observant of you.”

Cayde crossed his arms, “You’re mean.”

“No, I’m Ophelia.”

“Funny too!”

The two sat in silence until the ramen bowls were set in front of them. The Exo seemed uncertain as he attempted to work out when he ordered food for himself until the Warlock cleared her throat, grabbing his attention. Surprised, but not upset, Cayde ate the food graciously; saving Glimmer was not something he was brilliant at so free food was a boon from the Traveller. Setting in the sky, the sun cast a pink light over the Tower, illuminating the open area in a soft glow that reflected from the metal of Exos, armour, and Sweeper Bots alike. No one would know that Ophelia had woken only an hour before sunset as she had crashed in her room from sleeplessness.

Pushing his finished bowl away, Cayde returned his attention to the matter at hand – the matter that had admittedly slipped his mind when greeted with a sarcastic Warlock offering free food. “When are you going back into the Crucible?”

Ophelia chuckled, “I don’t plan on it for a while.”

“Ok, but hear me out,” Cayde reasoned, putting his hands up as if she were a rabid animal – or Fallen, “Since Ikora stopped playing in the Crucible- “

“I’m sure Lord Shaxx is taking offence to the fact you said playing, Cayde.”

“- I have not seen a Warlock so ruthless! Did you know she had a winning streak of twenty-five?”

“Did you know she can turn people into frogs?” Ophelia countered with much amusement.

Cayde sighed, “I want to bet on you.”

The Warlock snorted in derision, not believing what she was hearing, “I did well because I was angry, no other reason.”

It was Cayde’s turn to be derisive, “So your skill with a sniper was pure rage?”

She said nothing.

“Eh? Am I right? Or am I right?” He asked smugly. “Can’t you just be angry again? I’ve been called ‘aggravating’ once or twice by my fellow Vanguard, so I’m certain I could make you angry.”

“I don’t need you to make me angry, Cayde,” Ophelia smiled, “I’ll do it- “

“YES!”

“- But I want something in return.”

Cayde contemplated for a moment, hand on chin, “And what would this something be?”

“You’re on the Vanguard, so talk to your Vanguard,” Ophelia said, “I want a position – an official position – that would allow me to do my research in peace, to travel out of the Tower and where I please in the solar system. I don’t want a cut of any Glimmer you earn, just that.”

In the distance, the Moon began to settle in the sky, bringing with it a softer glow as darkness began to descend and the lanterns across the Tower were lit. Cayde’s face was illuminated in orange light as he contemplated this deal, his expression furrowed and careful.

“And what makes you think I have that sort of influence?”

“Well, they’re not the bosses of you, are they?”

With a surprising abruptness, Cayde-6 broke into laughter, clasping Ophelia on the shoulder like they were old friends, “That was a clever little trap you lured me into.”

“So, are you in?”

The Exo grinned, “So in.”


	4. Ghost Log 29

**TYPE: Ghost Shell Recording**

**LOCATION: The EDZ**

**• LOG FOLLOWS •**

P: Ophelia, we should not be out here.

O: Lighten up, Polter. Nothing is going to-

**[STATIC]**

P: Guardian!

O: They blew up my **[REDACTED]** Sparrow! Polter! They blew up the Sparrow!

P: I suggest we head back to-

**[STATIC]**

P: Guardian, we are very outnumbered!

O: Tell me something I don’t know!

**[STATIC]**

P: The Commander is going to kill you, Ophelia.

O: Maybe... but look at the loot!


	5. Sweet Victories

Ophelia had a bag packed under her bed.

Inside it was all the essentials she would need when she finally left the Tower, from a cleaning kit for her armour to ration packs for emergencies to a stash of Glimmer that would last her on her travels. Everything she could need was in there, ready to leave at the drop of a helmet. Now Cayde had offered her the hope for a chance, her dream of learning out in space, away from the duties to the Tower. It all seemed to be more of a reality. Nevertheless, she did have duties to fulfil to claim her dream; the Crucible called.

Summoning her Fireteam, they were shocked to see Ophelia take initiative, organising dates and times they could fight in the Crucible – something she had never done. Li and Zephyr looked on, nodding in dumbfounded agreement as the unmotivated Warlock had some fight in her that they had never seen. It was also Ophelia who approached Lord Shaxx, free of fear and picked out all of her desired slots to fight in. 

“I like your enthusiasm, Warlock,” Lord Shaxx said, his voice lilting with surprise – and mistrust.

“You’ve undoubtedly seen me fight, Lord Shaxx,” She bit back with a smile, “You must by now realise I enjoy the thrill of the Crucible.”

He reared his head, finished with the conversation, and sought to ready the Fireteam for three Control matches throughout the day. Zephyr-9 nudged their Hunter friend at the interaction, Li merely chuckling, whispering something back. Ophelia didn’t bother asking.

Sat waiting for their match to begin, the three friends watched on the television screens at numerous other Fireteams fighting in the Crucible. Some of the matches were painfully close. Other matches were painful to watch. Li laughed as he picked apart the performance of his fellow Hunters, also noting how one had a cloak he’d been looking for for a while at that point; typical Hunter he was, always in it for the loot. It was Zephyr that sat quietly next to him, scouting who was their biggest competitors, narrowing them down to their weaknesses.

Ophelia felt at ease, Polter hovering just over her shoulder in his Ladylike Shell. Across the way, the pair spotted Cayde negotiating with some rather shady-looking Hunters. Whether he would be able to keep their deal quiet worried Ophelia as he seemed to be making bets with lots of different folk around the Tower. Who knows? Maybe there was an entire group of people who gamble and barter on everyday things, and she just had no clue.

“Whatcha lookin’ at the Hunter Vanguard for?” Li butted into her thoughts, leaning his head so far to the left that it was nearly in her lap.

“Is it a crime to zone out?” She said, collected with her emotions.

“I just know there’s a pun to make about Control zones there…” Zephyr frowned.

Li smiled. “Cute, Zephie, but we’re talking about Ophelia’s latest obsession.”

The Warlock scoffed, batting Li on the head as it finally came into land on her lap. Her Fireteam was the kind that liked to joke around, so she learned not to take them too seriously when they got into moods like this. It often was more tiring than amusing if she couldn’t enjoy herself.

“I don’t get obsessions.”

Polter piped up, “Guardians are more likely to have addictive personalities, y’know.”

“See?” Li said, his voice triumphant, “The Ghost dressed like a ladybug is right. First, it’s the Crucible. Now it’s Cayde.”

“Oh, would you look at that? It’s our turn to go into the Crucible! Nice chat, but we gotta go!”

With that daily dose of sarcasm, the Fireteam headed to their ships, practically buzzing to get into the Crucible and fight. Ophelia’s friends thought they were funny, and they were. However, they were as funny as they were capable of keeping a secret – and they too liked a healthy payment of Glimmer every once in a while. Was she being selfish? She had asked herself this numerous times, concluding that she probably was, but didn’t she deserve to be selfish? Definitely.

As the Fireteam collected themselves at the starting point in the arena, Ophelia fiddled with her hand cannon, reassurance flooding her as she felt the outline of her sniper strapped to her back. The first of three matches began, and, needless to say, she enjoyed the thrill of the battle. Rather than talk her feelings out with Li or Zephyr or even Polter, she fuelled her emotion into the conflict; her anxiety became fire in her veins as pure energy surged through her entire being, siphoning Void energy. It was a quiet assault of emotion that was as powerful as any flaming sword or crackling electricity. Yes, this was exhilarating. The Crucible pleased her more than she could ever know, but it grew weary. Match after match after match, it lost its spark.

This was why she needed to leave. This is why she needed to win.

In the Nessus arena, the environment was beautiful; the red flora against white stone was fitting for what was to come. The gentle thrum of the natural environment buzzed in her ears, the ambience filling her head with nothingness. She needed the nothing to focus her senses.

Though she had an affinity for the Void, Ophelia could manage a strong Well of Radiance when she was truly fired up; today she was blazing with anger and Light. Li laughed as he entered the Well in a sliding motion, his Golden Guns fired up. Every kill strengthened the Well, keeping it up and efficient long enough to decimate the opposing Fireteam, building a solid lead.

“I’m sure we’re gonna mercy rule them!” Li barked a laugh over the gunfire, pulling out a shotgun, “Cover me.”

As the rift dissipated, Ophelia launched herself in the air, landed shots on an unfortunate Titan pair, distracting them long enough for Li to finish them off himself.

_“I’ve seen enough! I’m calling this one.”_

* * *

Transported out of the arena, Li began ecstatically recounting his triumph with a Parcel of Stardust to Zephyr. Ophelia chuckled at the ordeal, slipping away as she saw Cayde looking very smug next to a sulking Hunter. Waiting for her to walk away, Ophelia approached the Hunter Vanguard, feigning a casual look. He spotted her; his face lit up with glee.

“Ophelia.” He said her name like a blessing. “Ophelia, I’m going to be able to pay you back for that ramen date the other night.”

“Not a date,” She said, but couldn’t help but grin.

“Not a date,” He echoed with a nod, rubbing his hands together, “But I certainly love you after the performance you put up there.”

“You sound so dodgy right now.” Ophelia couldn’t help but laugh, grinning for what felt like the first time in forever, “I mean Drifter dodgy.”

The Exo put his hands in the air, looking as innocent as a gunslinging, gambling Hunter could. Cayde revealed exactly how much he had riding on that first match – enough Glimmer it made Ophelia’s stomach turn – before thanking her profusely. They did this all in a hushed manner, sniggering to themselves like Kinderguardians.

“Who’s your friends?”

Ophelia turned around at Cayde’s question, seeing how Li and Zephyr stared at the Vanguard member; Li looked especially excited. 

“The Hunter over there is Li, and Zephyr is the other one, a Titan.” Ophelia hummed, smiling at them as pleasantly as she could muster. “You do know that without Li, we wouldn’t have mercy-ruled that team? He’s wicked with a shotgun.”

“Is that so?” Cayde said with a musing smile, gesturing for the pair to join their conversation – which is where Ophelia promptly left.

Sat on the nearest railing on the Tower – Polter by her side ready to quick-rez – she caught a glimpse of a replay of her match on a nearby television. She had to admit she had a flair in battle, and that Well of Radiance was a moment of pure fire for her. When training initially with Ikora Rey, Ophelia couldn’t quite grasp the chaos – the electricity – required to harness Arc energy. The Void, however, was a comfort; she was the master of her own emotion, and therefore her power. If the Void was good enough for the legendary Warlock Ikora Rey, it was good enough for Ophelia.

And yet, she was still fascinated by the subtle rage of Solar energy, the way she had watched awestruck at the Hammers of a Titan, the Golden Guns of a Hunter. Dawnblades were lifted by their fire, could rain fury down on enemies, and could heal – a Warlock’s rage could heal. Volatile emotions could be siphoned into one merciful, radiant act, could spread Light and heal wounds. But Ophelia feared volatility. Volatility led to carelessness. Carelessness led to death.

The Void was a comfort.

Palming at her eyes, Ophelia settled herself, attempting to think on more menial things. Looking up, she saw the iconic helmet of the Crucible himself faced in her direction. Lord Shaxx was watching her, and with his helm on she could not decipher why. Had she impressed him with her prowess in the arena? She thought otherwise as he ducked his head back down, slamming angry letters into a keyboard.

Perturbed, Ophelia glanced away, kicking her legs in a steady rhythm. It was ridding the pent-up adrenaline from the just won battle in the Crucible, expelling it from her body slowly but surely; perhaps running would do it faster – something more active – but that would be embarrassing, wouldn’t it? With a huff, she hopped down from the railing, the metallic thud of her boots on the floor echoing loudly enough to make her wince. In one swift movement, Ophelia snatched Polter from in the air and into her palms, striding away with speed that was anything but casual.

“Do you think he’s on to us, P?”

Her Ghost blinked. “Who? Shaxx?”

“Not so loud,” She hissed, staring intently at Polter, “And it’s Lord Shaxx for us Guardians.”

“Well, I’m not a Guardian- “

“Polter!”

“- but fine.”

The two stared at each other for a moment before Ophelia started laughing, releasing her Ghost into the open air. Assured that she was calm, the Warlock headed back towards her Fireteam, ready for the next two matches – these being back to back. Cayde had thoroughly entertained Li and Zephyr, leaving them determined and in high spirits.

As was usual for them, the matches came and went, breezing by with easy wins. These were the Guardians Ophelia had paired herself with since she was first resurrected by her dear Polter; they were synced in battle the way any good Fireteam should be. As much as she had forgotten how much she missed the thrill of the Crucible, Ophelia had forgotten how much her studies had kept her away from her friends. They ate and drank and laughed together after their victories – Cayde graciously paying due to a mysterious sum of Glimmer coming into his possession. Though she hadn’t drunk much with them, she was a little light on her feet, and bid them a good night.

In the frigid air of the night, Ophelia felt a chill ripple over her skin, crawling beneath her armour. Heading to her apartment, she spotted once more the Crucible handler, this time closing shop for the evening. Polter bristled as Shaxx tilted his head up, watching his Guardian from across the metal walkway. The Ghost bumped the back of her head, attempting to hurry her in the right direction. Instead, she swatted him playfully with her hand, laughing as he ducked with a surprised beep.

Yes, Ophelia thought this Titan Lord brash and loud, but she had also heard recounts of his heroic ventures; this was the War Lord turned hero of the Lightless people, who had a rebellious streak. The helmet had never come off in front of anyone else she knew. From a historical standpoint, he was an icon, a catalyst for changing perceptions of what it meant to be a true Guardian. From a personal standpoint, he was far too loud for Ophelia to bother being around him too long. It was people like him that made her question whether she focused her research to far back in history, whether her great start in academia truly started centuries ago.

“Warlock!”

Ophelia startled, looking towards Lord Shaxx, “Yes?”

“Are you too inebriated to even make it back to your own bed?” He asked, no humour in his voice, “Or will you just settle there for the night staring dumbly into the night?”

Despite her anger, she smiled, Polter nudging her ever quicker as he sensed she might do something rash. Without a second look at Shaxx, Ophelia turned and headed to her apartment for the night, her blood boiling with rage. She understood now how Warlocks could harness their anger into flame, but not how they could control it. Crashing into her room, she slammed herself face-first onto her bed, forcing herself to sleep.

Oh, how she loathed that man.

She could only find a silver lining in the fact that she’d be gone soon, away into the stars with that bag under her bed.


	6. Ghost Log 42

**TYPE: Ghost Shell Transcript**   
**LOCATION: The Tower**   
**• LOG FOLLOWS •**

She isn’t sleeping again.

She says she fine, but I worry.

Is that a Ghost’s job? Worrying?

The prosthetic arm seems to be doing the job well enough for her since Banshee fixed it up.

_Reminder:_ don’t let Ophelia attempt to ride a Sparrow into the Gulch again.

Her studies have consumed her since Ikora Rey introduced her to certain literature, which I think will be a positive influence on her.

I understand how busy the Warlock Vanguard must be, but for her to take time and assist Ophelia into adjusting was exactly what my Guardian needed.

She may not be sleeping again, but she can harness a mean Nova Bomb.


	7. The Dead Cliffs

“So, when you’re thinking, do you do it in words or number of sequences? Damn, do you even think?”

Ophelia was barraging her poor Ghost with questions since the moment she woke up – that being that morning as well as when she was first resurrected. It was the nature of a Warlock to be curious about the world around them, but Polter wondered if every Warlock was so persistent with their questions.

“I don’t know,” Polter said, his blue eye blinking up at her. “I never put much thought into it.”

“Are you connected directly to the Traveler? If so, are you aware of events that occurred where you weren’t present? Does that mean you’re connected to other Ghosts? Like a hive mind? Son of a bitch, is that why the Hive are called the Hive?”

The woman wracked her brain, looking up from her journals with little to no clue on what she was attempting to decipher. With some success, Ophelia had mapped the journey of the Traveler into Sol, taking from ancient documents of its descent into the universe and position over Mars. There was evidence that the planet became the home to millions of blessed humans with the remains of great cities that were now overrun with Cabal and Hive. Despite the significance of Mars as the meeting point of humanity with the Traveler, Ophelia sought to unearth discoveries in a more specific subject area; Clovis Bray.

It was this massive corporation that popped up everywhere in artefacts and texts. Of course, there was the Guardian Ana Bray, but she was dead. Without her, certain locations may be harder to explore and uncover, but Ophelia was willing to put in the work. What amazing things had this corporation done for the advancement of humanity that laid under dust just waiting to be revived? Mars was where she decided to start with her research once Cayde laid down the groundwork for her to leave.

“Ophelia, I think you need to get some fresh air,” Polter suggested diplomatically, floating across the apartment with a speed that created a gust, blowing her papers into disarray.

“Polter!” She cried, looking at the scattered work across the floor. “You know full well I cannot be bothered to reorganise those right now.”

“And I know you don’t want to look at them as well because you hate mess.”

If a Ghost could look smug, Ophelia was certain that it would look exactly like Polter did in that single moment. With a groan, she dragged herself up from the floor and exited the apartment. Without a goal for her to aim towards being outside of her room, she found a comfortable place to sit, sulking there until one approached her. In her time, a Tower cat came and sat on her lap – and she was incredibly pleased beneath the scowl on her face.

“You could do some bounties? Get some extra Glimmer?”

Ophelia stared at Polter with a deadpan face, “Do I look like a loot grabbing Hunter to you?”

The noise of contemplation emitting from the Ghost was not lost on Ophelia as she gasped, offended. Seeing something bad coming on the horizon, Polter disappeared into the warm afternoon air. Without a Ghost or a cat – the Tower cat got bored pretty quickly – Ophelia left to find work that wouldn’t drive her insane.

“Ikora,” She called to the Warlock Vanguard, who was looking dutifully over the Tower walls.

Her once mentor greeted her with a small smile, gesturing for her to stand with her. Looking at the blinking lights and uneven lines of houses and streets below them, Ophelia couldn’t help but embrace the surge of pride she felt; these were the people she protected with her fellow Guardians. Was there anything nobler?

“I’ve seen you’ve taken to the Crucible,” Ikora mused, her calm voice lilting with humour, “Even for a Warlock with your affinity for a fight, I didn’t expect to see you embrace it so fully.”

“It’s a past-time,” Ophelia brushed off, “Would you believe me if I said your Hunter Vanguard encouraged me to get involved?”

Ikora raised an eyebrow, “I’d believe you, and I wouldn’t be surprised about it.”

There was no point in hiding why Ophelia had gotten into the swing of Crucible competition, even if she was omitting a few facts from the matter. Ikora Rey seemed to be adept at gaining information out of unwitting Guardians in a way that wasn’t intrusive nor violent; she had an air about her that was simply knowing. Any secret you once had suddenly felt like dirty laundry being aired to all even if she had no clue you had anything to hide in the first place. As her student, however, Ophelia had picked up a few strategies in case she would ever want to hide anything from her.

“I’m going to be straight with you here, Ikora,” Ophelia said, brushing back a loose curl that had fallen from her ponytail and into her face, “I’m bored stiff staying in the Tower all day. I just want something to give me some purpose, y’know? Nothing big. I’m just wondering if you – or anyone else really – need a helping hand.”

“How goes your studies?” Ikora asked, clasping her hands comfortably behind her back.

“As well as they can only taking from the documents we have.”

The Warlock Vanguard hummed, taking a moment to collect her thoughts.

“I do have something you can do,” Ikora said finally, “And it would take you out of the Tower.”

“Really?”

“Yes, you see I owe Lord Shaxx a favour- “

“Oh no.”

“- And he’s going through Redjack frames faster than he requires them, so he was looking for someone to take out into the field with him to retake some arena spaces for the Crucible.”

Ophelia barked out a laugh, before seeing the serious smile on Ikora’s face, “So, what? You want me to fix his Redjacks?”

“No, Ophelia,” She said, “Go with him and reclaim our grounds for the Crucible.”

“And what if I don’t want to?” Ophelia replied indignantly.

But, as always, Ikora Rey had her way of knowing.

* * *

Having enough smarts about her to dare not deny the Warlock Vanguard, Ophelia made her way begrudgingly across the Tower towards the Crucible handler. Shaxx, as usual, was shouting at someone for something that Ophelia didn’t care for. He stood taller than any Guardian – any human – she had ever seen before, so it was understandable why he intimidated so many. His helmet had become somewhat of an icon amongst the Lightless and Guardians alike, many people trusting in those who come to protect them once they see the single horn and brash orange. The people loved him. It didn’t mean she had to.

“Why are you holding a cup of coffee?” She asked, her mouth moving before her remaining brain cells had the chance to keep up – or stop her.

He stared at her, falling silent for a perfect moment.

“Okay, and hear me out here,” Ophelia said, a serious look playing on her face, “The helmet stays on, right? So why do you need a cup of coffee? Are you gonna drink it here and now? Is it for show? Frankly, it’s confusing.”

Lord Shaxx slammed the mug down, miraculously not smashing it into tiny shards of angry ceramic pieces, “And what business is that to you, Warlock?”

“Oh, Ikora sent me to buddy up with you on some Crucible stuff,” She grinned, Polter beeping mournfully next to her head.

With a single sweeping look up and down her body, he laughed, a brutal, cutting sound, “I have no need for you.”

“Well that’s fine,” Ophelia said, her lips quirking into a small smile, “I’ll just go inform Ikora that all your Redjacks are well and functional and that she was wrong.”

The Titan stopped dead, his broad shoulders rising and falling in a slow, controlled movement. He turned to look at her, moving in a gesture as if he were considering snapping back but resigning, turning to look over the current Crucible matches. Ophelia could hear the chastising beeps of her Ghost as she sat next to Arcite. The frame was dutifully working on the mangled remains of Redjacks, sparks flying as metal scraped metal. With nothing to do but wait, she lent her assistance, removing bullets from bloodless wounds with care as Polter scanned the frames for anything that didn’t belong.

Frames were something else that fascinated Ophelia; she often wondered exactly how sentient these ever-learning frames were. Surely with their adept perception, they could be considered somewhat sentient, but did they feel? It was an interesting concept that she could delve into, and yet there were perhaps one too many rabbit holes of research that she had fallen headfirst into as of late.

As Guardians began to transmat out of the finishing Crucible match, Lord Shaxx allowed them to approach with their finished bounties and task. Some had earned weapons and others Glimmer, but all seemed happy with the fruits of their labour – and labour it was. Light seeped from each person as easily as blood from a wound; there was raw power in these Guardians, fresh from battle. The scent of smoke, remnants of Solar Supers, was faint in the air, and the quiet hunger of Void energy left Ophelia yearning for a fight.

“So, boss,” Ophelia piped up as the final Fireteam left to reap their rewards, “Where are am I helping out today?”

Lord Shaxx didn’t look up from his control panel as he spoke, “The Dead Cliffs, in the EDZ.”

“What are we fighting?”

“Fallen.”

She hummed, bringing out her guns to check over them before she was to head out into the field. Excitement permeated her entire being, the ravenous desire for conflict brewing within. Polter appeared just over her shoulder, nudging her in the gap where her jaw met her neck – an affectionate gesture. This brought a soft smile to her lips; it was rare that her Ghost would show her such open love unless she asked for it.

The two Guardians, satisfied that their weapons were in order, walked a distance apart to the Hangar where they got into their ships. With Shaxx on the comms, Ophelia was ready to go, practically buzzing at the idea of leaving the Tower for anything other than the Crucible. She launched her ship into the warm afternoon sky, following the leader contently. Knowing the journey wouldn’t take too long, did her last-minute checks on her armour immediately, tightening the leather clasps on her boots; it may only be Fallen they were fighting, but tripping over her own feet was an absolute no-no.

Shocking reds and greens adorned the environment in the form of nature taking back the metallic structures left to rust by humans gone. Stepping out of her ship, Ophelia rendezvoused with Lord Shaxx a length away from the site. The Fallen were everywhere. In the distance, she heard the shrill cry of a Captain, the unfortunately familiar sound sending a chill through her body.

“You will be stationed here,” Shaxx said bluntly, pointing at the Catwalk on the map his Ghost displayed, “Where you will be ready with your sniper rifle, whilst I,” He moved his hand to the centre of the map, “Will draw the remaining Fallen out here.”

Ophelia nodded, “And if they pin you there?”

The projected map dissipated in the air as Shaxx seemed almost amused, “They won’t.”

With their plan in place, Ophelia moved out first, quietly taking care of the few Dregs in the Mill. Shaxx on the comm line and Polter watching her back, she crouched on the ground and took out her Trophy Hunter, aiming down the sight to the centre of the area. She awaited his signal.

It didn’t take long for the Crucible to appear; in a blaze of Light, Lord Shaxx made his presence known, his fist launching through the head of a Vandal. That, apparently, was the signal. Picking off the Dregs sprinting at him, Ophelia thinned the horde of enemies skillfully, her mind sharp, whittled by the thrill of the fight. They seemed to come out of every crack in the metal, Ophelia thought, as the Fallen continued to swarm; she heard Shaxx’s booming laugh as he took them all head-on – and she felt her heart race.

“Ophelia!”

Polter’s warning spared her a knife in the back as she swung around, slamming the butt of her gun into the chest of a Vandal. As she sent a bullet through its head, more Fallen surged onto the Catwalk and careened towards her. On instinct, Ophelia launched herself into the air, strafing and dodging bullets until she landed by the side of Lord Shaxx. There was something masterful about the way he fought.

With a grin, Ophelia siphoned her flaming Light, forming a Well around them; Shaxx’s bellowing laughter told her she had done something right. Empowered and healed, she raised Cain with her hand cannon, the ether tinged blood of the enemy soaking the grass. The pair were ruthless, hellish almost as they slaughtered every last Fallen. It was a greater thrill than the Crucible, a greater feeling than the quiet chaos of the Void. This was pure.

The Well fell around them as the last Dreg collapsed into the blood and mud of the battlefield. If Ophelia could see beneath that helmet, she’d be sure Lord Shaxx was smiling.

“I’ll secure the perimeter and then we may leave.”

With no snideness or veiled frustration, the Warlock merely nodded, fresh with the glow of victory.


	8. Ghost Log

**TYPE: Ghost Shell Transcript**

**LOCATION: The Tower**

**• LOG FOLLOWS •**

C: Victory ramen for my favourite Warlock?

O: Ha, don’t let Ikora hear you say that.

C: Yeah, well Ikora never earned me as much Glimmer as you!

O: You’d have more if you didn’t spend it all as soon as you get it.

C: Whoa, whoa, whoa, Miss Warlock! I came over here to be nice to my favourite person-

O: You don’t know many people then.

C: -And I’m immediately crucified for being a good friend. I’m devestated, _wounded_.

O: That’s why you’re here?

C: Absolutely!

**[STATIC]**

C: Also, I need you to do a quick round in the Crucible for me pretty soon.

O: Ah, I see how it is, Cayde. Been doing this for months and you haven’t saved a slither of Glimmer.

C: Okay, okay, you may have been right, but this is a two-way thing, ‘Lia.

O: Don’t call me that.

C: Sure thing, ' _Lia_.


End file.
